


Wanderers

by WatTheCur



Category: American Werewolf in London (1981), Carrie (1976), Carrie - Stephen King
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Limbo, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatTheCur/pseuds/WatTheCur
Summary: Jack could tell what she was as soon as he saw her. Strange, it was rarely the blood that gave it away, unless of course, you were mangled or torn to the point of glaring obviousness. As she sat there on that doorstep, bleeding away from her mouth, through her soft, blue nightie, she could just as well have been merely wounded. But Jack could see that she was a good deal more than that. She was dead.
Kudos: 7





	Wanderers

Jack could tell what she was as soon as he saw her. Strange, it was rarely the blood that gave it away, unless of course, you were mangled or torn to the point of glaring obviousness. As she sat there on that doorstep, bleeding away from her mouth, through her soft, blue nightie, she could just as well have been merely wounded. But Jack could see that she was a good deal more than that. She was dead. 

Well, “seeing” was not quite right. To see that she was dead, would imply that there was something about her person that would remove any doubt. She was only bleeding, not squashed, or shredded, or dismembered. And her skin was still quite rosy, beneath the blood and generous freckles. 

_She must be a newbie_ , he thought.

No, it was nothing he could see. Neither was it something he could hear, or smell. Limbo has no soundtrack, unfortunately. Not even a hum, or a fizz of white noise, which one might imagine. That would at least be something to listen to, during the long wander. And death does not stink, not after the old corporal form is tucked away, six feet under. Deadness was not something Jack _sensed_ when he looked at her, but something he _knew_ to be true. As he pondered this, he remembered reading how animals are able to see the shapes of the undead. He wondered for a moment if, when transformed, David would be able to see him, see all of them, without any sort of veil being lifted. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

The girl had not noticed him, yet. Well, if she knew he was there, she did not turn to see him. She was gazing up into the chilly, cloudless sky, as Jack had seen a young David fixate upon the TV screen, when his favourite cartoon was showing. Her slick, red fingers writhed, fitfully together in her lap and she was swaying, lightly, as if to some distant tune. Jack, anxious to know her better, made towards the steps on which she sat. Not needing to solidify himself for mortal eyes, the dry leaves beneath him lay undisturbed. Only when he stood no more that foot from her, did her attention finally descend to him. 

Jack smiled at her, and heard his loose flesh gurgle with the strain. 

“Hi!” He thought he may as well have yelled, as his greeting rang in that atmosphere of sacred silence. He fumbled at the front of his tattered coat, before remembering he could not take it of, now. It was the sight of that night dress, how insubstantial it looked on her. It made him ask a stupid question; “Not cold out here, are ya?” 

The girl’s eyes were wide and bewildered. He fancied that the sky itself had enlarged them, blown them with it’s glare and it’s colour, but it would be impossible for it to touch her at all, now. The lip that shone bright with her blood had begun to tremble. She was frightened. Of course she was frightened, just because she was a walking coroner’s report, that was not to say she had ever seen one, herself.

“Heh, I’m sorry, I know I’m a little worse for wear. If I knew I was gonna meet a lady like you, I’d ‘a tidied up a little, you know?” Demonstrably, he brushed at the sticky shoulder of his coat, while the tendons in his open neck seemed to quiver along with his jest. 

The girl only only blinked at him. Her brow twitched into a brief, bemused frown. Jack stopped worrying his coat. 

“You know, I’ve been walking a while.” He pinched, self-consciously at the dangling flesh of his cheek. “Haven’t seen to many people...You mind if I sit with you a while?” 

Silence, but at last, the girl gave a stiff nod. Jack thanked her and settled upon the grass in front of her. After another long moment of silence, she heard the congealed seal over her lips break apart.

“Tired?” Her voice was thin an weary. At first, he did not realise she was asking a question. 

“Well,” He ran his ineffectual fingers through the grass. “not really. But I have walked quite a way.” He gestured in the direction he had come. “A few states from where I started, anyhow.” 

The girl had begun to fret with her fingers, again. 

“It’s just...I ain’t been tired in so long.” As she said this, she peered around her at the lawns and houses, as if she had just remembered they were there. 

“Someone, in some office, somewhere would probably call us lucky.” Jack grinned at her, again, though she was not looking. At last, her eyes drifted back to him. She studied him, sadly. 

“What happened to you?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He answered, warmly. Her mouth twisted with doubt.

“I think I might.” 

Jack hoisted himself off the ground and rocked onto his haunches. He leaned towards her, conspiratorially. Noticing, she bowed a little towards him.

“You believe in monsters?” He whispered. At that, her gaze fluttered, her red mouth puckered.

“Uh huh.” 

Wanting to distract her from her sadness, Jack leaned closer.

“It was a werewolf.” He flashed his pink teeth at her. She frowned again, though he saw, inwardly. 

“Really?...I mean, are you sure?” 

“Uh huh.” He fell back onto his backside, leaving her squinting, quizzically into her lap. “What about you?”

And just like that, his efforts to quell her upset seemed to have been for nothing. Her head jolted up and she looked at him as though he had lunged forward and struck her about the head. After a moment, her lip began to curl and her face crumpled for tears that did not come. Her eyes were wet, but it seemed, only as wet as in the moment she passed, and no more. 

“Hey,” he tried to soothe her. “Hey, loo-”

“It was-” Her frenetic fingers glinted between the folds of her gown. “It was _me_.” The last word was barely spoken, a crack in her throat, but Jack caught it. She drew her bloody hands into her belly and curled in on them, gathering herself up and away from his sight. 

“Oh, hey. Hey, honey. Look, I’m sorry to bring back bad memories. I usually make it a point not to ask the big “How?”. You don’t have to say anything, okay?” He made to reach out and pat her head, but thought better of laying an unfamiliar hand on her. Instead, he only shuffled close to her, until he could peer under the curtain of her hair. “C’mon, doll, you’re okay.” 

She would not meet his eye, but uncurled herself with an instinctive sniffle. 

“Hey, you know-You know somethin’?” Jack chattered on. “Somethin’ that has bugged me, every day since I croaked? I really wish I coulda seen some sorta movie of the moment that wolf got me.” The girl had been scrubbing at her eyes. Now, she thumbed vacantly at their raw corners, as she looked up at him. “Ya know what happened?” He felt relief when she shook her head. “My best buddy fell on his ass, like the klutz he is, and I was helping him up when that thing leapt on me! It’s so typical that it should’ve been hauling his dumb ass outta the mud, that got me killed. If I coulda seen my face as I fell, it probably woulda said exactly that!” 

It was desperate, and it stung. He found himself wishing that he could cry, after he said this, but he was looking at how she was not trying to, anymore. She was not laughing, even smiling, but her lips were pressed together with resolve, and she was pushing her hair from her face. Content and wanting to keep his own bad memories at bay, Jack forced a smile and stood up.

“So,” He swallowed and shoved his mauled hands into his pockets, “how long you been hangin’ out here?” 

The girl shrugged.

“I used to know.” She muttered. “I don’t no more.” 

“You ever take a walk?” 

“No. I mean, I didn’t think I was allowed. I mean...ain’t this hell?” 

Jack choked out a laugh.

“Not quite, doll, but I’d say it’s a close second!” He gnawed his lip a moment, before voicing the idea that had been blooming in his decaying brain, since the moment he had laid eyes on her. “That buddy I was talkin’ about, the clumsy ox. I’m gonna go visit him...Since you don’t have to sit around here, I was thinkin’...Maybe you’d wanna take a walk with me, until we find someplace you like better?” 

The girl blinked hard at him, as if she had been hit with some lengthy mathematical question. Once again, she gazed about her, but studiously. Her scrutiny ended with Jack. His smile softened, genuinely, when she got up from her step and shook out her nightie, pointlessly. 

“What’s your name?” She asked him.

“I’m, Jack. Jack Goodman.” With playful suavity, he offered her his arm. “And you are?”

She approached him carefully, like an animal approaching a proffered morsel. Then, with the first, faint smile to appear on her face since his arrival, she reached out and gingerly hooked his elbow. 

“I’m Carrie.” She murmured. “Carrie-...Just Carrie.” 

“Pleased to know ya, Just Carrie. Let’s go find ya a place of your own.”


End file.
